


it's a lot like life

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Aristocracy, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Come Marking, Dean in Panties, Dom Castiel, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Master/Servant, Masturbation, POV Castiel, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Sub Dean, Switching, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: There were rumors of liaisons between maids and their Ladies, of short-lived passionate affairs between servants and their masters, yes, but Castiel had never heard of anything that passed the test of time. Their lives were too different, and the world saw these relationships as a threat to the very foundation of society. There had to be those that had the power and those that served them, and love had a dangerous tendency to blur those lines.Castiel’s own thoughts were the best example. Lord Winchester had started to be a human being in his mind, a person he cared for not because it was his duty, but because he felt a bond to him.Dangerous indeed.And impossible given Castiel’s proclivities. He didn’t think his Lordship would react well to his fantasies of bending him over his desk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened... I know for most of my fics I promise smut and in the end those two saps end up cuddling and/or take up all the space with pining and self-doubt so I have to change the rating. This will NOT be the case with this one... 
> 
> As always, I'm extremely grateful to the wonderful [Marie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mariesondetre/pseuds/mariesondetre) for looking this over<3 Go check out her work!

 

 

When Mr. Singer sprained his ankle, – the stone stairs down to the kitchen were uneven from generations of busy servants taking them 50, 60 times a day – the staff came together to plan for his absence. Castiel had started his position as second footman only three weeks ago, so he kept to the back and stayed quiet while the others discussed how to proceed.

“What about Mr. Novak,” Mildred, the cook, asked, and all the heads turned to him as one. Castiel’s mouth went dry. To take over the duties of the valet of Lord Winchester would be a great responsibility and an honor. He nodded, unable to speak. He held his suddenly clammy hands still at his sides. Nobody spoke up to oppose.

“Then it’s settled. Charlene will tell you anything you need to know. You’ll start this evening.” Mildred smiled at him encouragingly.

The assembly shattered and the preparation for dinner began. Castiel swallowed. This was a huge chance and he hoped he would be up to the task.

 

\---

 

Castiel stole glances over to Lord Winchester all through dinner. He served the family and stayed close to the wall when nothing was needed, almost invisible. The silver and the crystal twinkled in the candle light. The table was set for four: Lord Winchester, his mother Lady Mary, and his brother Samuel with his wife Lady Jessica.

Castiel let the drone of the conversation wash over him without paying too close attention. Charlie, lady’s maid of Lord Winchester’s mother, had explained his new duties in the last half hour. He would have to help the Lord undress and lay out his clothes for the next day, brush out and sew his suits, plan ahead for trips and guests.

Castiel had huge shoes to fill. Mr. Singer was way more than a servant to Lord Winchester. He had been with the family since before the Lord’s birth and been a kind of surrogate father to him when the old Lord, John Winchester, had died ten years ago. Mr. Singer was a confidant, a consultant – a friend as far as people from such different classes could be friends –, and Castiel wondered how much of that role he would be able to play.

Until now, he hadn’t talked much to the Lord. The other servants spoke highly of him and more than one of the other servants had eyed him jealously when Castiel had been given the honor of being his valet. Castiel didn’t know quite what to expect.

Tonight, he would find out if he was up for the task, and Castiel felt his heart pick up speed with anxious excitement. The master of the house was handsome and had a natural aura of authority that made him the center of attention even if he said nothing at all. In the rare cases in which he spoke up, what he said was well thought-out and presented with humor and a natural charisma Castiel envied.

Castiel himself was quiet and often too lost in his own thoughts to order them or voice them in a compelling manner. There was a certain stiffness to his posture he couldn’t shake. Which was probably for the best, since in his field of work, casualness was not a desirable virtue.

Before Castiel knew it, dinner was over, and the family settled into the library for coffee and brandy. Castiel went down to the kitchen to eat, but soon realized he wouldn’t be able to. The anxiety about the coming hours lay in his stomach like a stone. So instead of having dinner he helped the maids with the new grocery delivery. He needed to occupy his hands and his mind until the bell rang for him to go up.

When the sound finally travelled through the dining room, Charlie looked up from her work and wished him good luck. Castiel nodded his thanks and gathered himself, before he took the two flights of stairs up the Lord’s quarters.

Lord Winchester stood with the back to him when he entered.

“Good evening, Your Lordship,” Castiel offered and took position by the door.

Lord Winchester turned, gaze on a letter in his hand.

“Evening.”

He read on and Castiel waited patiently to be addressed. It gave him time to take the room in, the broad window and the desk full of papers, the comfortable armchair with books stacked high next to it, the wide bed with dark green sheets that looked soft and cozy. He averted his eyes quickly to concentrate back on the man in front of him.

Lord Winchester was in his late 20s and had been the head of the house since his father died. He had been more of a father than a brother to Lord John’s younger son Samuel. While Dean led the estate, Samuel had studied law in Oxford and settled back here when he had earned his degree.

Lord Winchester was a good-looking, charming man, and a lot of women would be happy to spend their lives with him, Castiel was sure of it. There had been advances from various families who wanted him to meet and maybe marry their daughters. But he had turned down each and every one of them.

Samuel had married Lady Jessica Moore last year and they were expecting their first child. From what Castiel heard, that took some of the pressure from the Lord’s shoulders. But the curiosity as to why he never settled hadn’t died down. Castiel had heard fantastic stories about a broken heart, a secret and forbidden romance, a curse. Some of the whispered tales were ridiculous; some rang true. But they all added to the appeal of the man Castiel now would serve.

Broad shouldered, strong and athletic, Lord Winchester drew the eye of every female visitor – and Castiel’s too, but Castiel had to hide that very carefully. It wasn’t unheard of that men preferred the company of other men, and it was overlooked as long as everybody involved was discreet about it. Castiel had shared a few months with the chauffeur of the last house he worked at, and the other servants knew about it. Nobody ever said anything, and when Balthazar moved to start a new position in York, they had parted ways as friends.

After that, Castiel hadn’t sought out the company of partners. He had made his peace with the fact that he had very special tastes even amongst the men that were attracted to other men. He didn’t deem the satisfaction of his needs important enough to actively search for someone who might share them. He knew of establishments in London which catered to more exotic sexual desires. But they were meant for the upper society, not for servants like him.

So the fact that Castiel appreciated the male form and felt sexual attraction towards his own gender was not (much of a) problem here. The problem lay in the way his eyes were currently lingering on his master, a man so far above his own station that a single wrong word could cost Castiel his future. The problem was the stirring in his groin at the mere thought of this man on his knees in front of Castiel.

Now Lord Winchester lifted his head and met Castiel’s gaze. His eyes raked over Castiel who felt it like a touch. He tried to stay calm under the scrutiny but his pulse raced and his palms became sweaty.

“You’re Novak, right?”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

“Ah, I always hated that.” He put down the letter onto his desk and came closer. “Just call me Sir, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, Sir, that is, no, I don’t mind.” Castiel could punch himself for stumbling over his tongue like that.

Lord Winchester smiled at him. “Alright, then. It’s been a long day.”

He held out his hands in front of him and Castiel rushed to open his cuffs. The silver cufflinks opened easily despite Castiel’s slightly trembling, clammy hands. He put the jewellery down on the drawer. Then he stepped closer to undo the buttons of the Lord’s waistcoat. The fabric was warm from the body heat and the sun that fell through the window. Castiel concentrated on the buttons and did _not_ look up at the patch of freckled skin over the collar. It took all his willpower to resist. When the waistcoat was open, he helped Lord Winchester out of it.

It was an intimate and professional task at the same time, and Castiel wished with a sudden fierceness that Mr. Singer had never stumbled or that Lord Winchester was a seventy year old man or that he, Castiel, was different. His collar felt too tight. He tried to calm his breathing when he carried the clothes over to the closet and brought back the Lord’s pajamas.

“I’ll manage the rest,” Lord Winchester said, and Castiel murmured his agreement as he turned to lay out the suit for the next day.

He fought to keep his gaze down, but it was a losing game. With only a short look up he took in the sight of the master of the house, naked, and confirmed every single speculation that had crossed Castiel’s mind in the last weeks.

Yes, the freckles reached down to every part of his body.

Yes, the legs were as bowed as they looked.

Yes, those shoulders were broad and well-rounded and muscled just like in Castiel’s daydreams.

It was just his luck that Lord Winchester turned in that very moment and noticed Castiel looking. A perfect eyebrow rose in inquiry. Castiel felt a blush creep up his neck and scolded himself.

He smoothed down the fabric of the grey suit in front of him one last time and straightened. “Will that be all, Your… I mean, Sir?”

“Yes, Novak, that’ll be all. Good night.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much guys for the kind feedback and - holy hell - all those subscriptions:-) Here's a new chapter for you.

 

 

They fell into a weird kind of routine after that. Each morning and each evening, Castiel helped Lord Winchester in and out of his clothes. Lord Winchester hesitated for a fraction of a second when he was undressed as if he waited for something. Castiel glanced. Dean kept dressing for the night or the day. Castiel composed himself and left. 

A week went by. The atmosphere in the room grew thick and tense whenever they shared it. Castiel didn’t know what to do and tried to ignore it as best he could. He knew what the lingering looks and the way Lord Winchester licked his lips meant, he just didn’t know what to make of it. 

He was in no position to act on the building desire he felt and knew was reciprocated. And even if he  _ could _ do anything about it, it was clear he  _ shouldn’t _ . Sexual encounters between social classes happened, it was an open secret, but nothing good ever came out of it for the lower station. 

There were rumors of liaisons between maids and their Ladies, of short-lived passionate affairs between servants and their masters, yes, but Castiel had never heard of anything that passed the test of time. Their lives were too different, and the world saw these relationships as a threat to the very foundation of society. There had to be those that had the power and those that served them, and love had a dangerous tendency to blur those lines. 

Castiel’s own thoughts were the best example. Lord Winchester had started to be a human being in his mind, a person he cared for not because it was his duty, but because he felt a bond to him. 

Dangerous. 

And impossible given Castiel’s proclivities. He didn’t think his Lordship would react well to his fantasies of bending him over his desk. 

Castiel’s days were filled with work so he didn’t have much time to dwell on it, but at night, the images came back and haunted him. Then he remembered the sight of Lord Winchester, deep in thought over a book with a crease between his softly curved brows. His warm smile. And, even more tempting, the memories of those forbidden and welcomed quick glances that revealed sun-kissed skin, strong arms, bowed legs, a heavy sex, full lips and lidded mossy green eyes. Castiel was absolutely unable to get the images out of his mind. 

His Lordship didn’t talk much in the mornings and Castiel stayed quiet, too, to give him the opportunity to think. His master seemed to plan the day in detail, and it was a lot he had to keep in mind. They didn’t have an agent, so Lord Winchester oversaw the business of the estate himself. That meant he visited the farmers, and hired men if repairs were needed, he even helped with the cattle when they had to be moved to another pasture and had lend a hand with the harvest more than once in the last years. Above all that, he had to strike deals with merchants and other estates, be visible in society, meet contacts in London, stay in correspondence with influential politicians. Quite frankly, Castiel doubted the Lord worked any less than himself or the other staff. 

And Castiel wouldn’t want to switch places. He started to admire the flexibility of Lord Winchester’s mind and his deep dedication to this place and his family. He had a sense of duty that surpassed by far what Castiel knew of other members of the aristocracy, and all the while, Lord Winchester stayed humble about his work. He thanked Castiel every day for his service, and it sounded sincere. 

In the evenings, Lord Winchester looked bone-tired. Castiel was happy to be of help, as little as it was, to make him feel better and relax. His master began to talk to Castiel about his day, slowly, as if he didn’t want to burden his valet with listening to his worries. Castiel showed interest and asked careful question to show him he cared. He loved the thoughtful consideration he recognized in everything his Lordship said, and could listen to his recounts of the newest developments for hours, even if the topics were wheat prizes or new methods in breeding pigs. 

Castiel knew he walked a line with the way he allowed his heart to open up to his master, but he couldn’t help it. The mutual attraction that built between them like a sentient entity was undeniable, but over those evenings spent in conversation, Castiel felt more than that. A deep respect that brought with it the genuine wish to learn more about the inner workings of Lord Winchester’s mind. This was harder to repress than his desire for his master’s body. 

And as if it wanted to punish him, fate tempted him even more. 

On the sixth morning, he came into the Lord’s bedroom and was greeted with a sight that made him freeze on the spot. Castiel blinked slowly. The scene in front of him could have been ripped right of out one of his favorite fantasies. His master, sprawled on the wide bed, sheets pushed down to the foot, clearly as caught by surprise as Castiel. He had every right to. Castiel was early because he wanted to stoke the fire when he saw it would be a cold, rainy day. 

It couldn’t be helped. He could only keep the interruption as short as possible and try to forget he ever saw his master pleasuring himself. Castiel murmured an apology and started to turn when he heard the command. 

“Stay.”

The voice was rough and breathless, but stern and sure. So Castiel stayed and cast down his eyes while the sounds of flesh on flesh filled the room. 

“Look at me, Novak.” Again, an order, and Castiel obeyed. 

Lord Winchester – no,  _ Dean _ , Castiel thought, for this didn’t happen between a servant and his master, he wouldn’t let it, and even if he only said the name in his mind – lifted one knee to angle himself so Castiel had a better view of his cock and his broad palm moving over it in languid strokes. 

The morning sun reached over and kissed his golden skin, deepened the blush that rose up from his chest to his straining neck. His full lips had fallen open, slick with spit, red as if he’d bitten them. 

Castiel felt his own dick stir in his pants at the sight. He had never seen another man pleasure himself and felt a heady mix of arousal and curiosity. Castiel kept his hands clasped behind his back, his spine straight, his eyes glued to where the master of the house fucked his fist with increasing speed. 

Why did Dean want him to observe this? Was this some kind of game? Dean had never before acknowledged the tension between them. Now they both wouldn’t be able to deny it ever again. Castiel saw every detail of Dean’s body building up to its climax. The muscles of his stomach constricted. Sweat gleamed on his chest. Soft moans fell from Dean’s lips and mingled with the filthy sounds of his skin on skin. 

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat, Castiel could not decide if he wanted it to end right now or never. He had never been more aroused in his life. 

His master’s gorgeous, strong body undulated on his bed, lost in passion. Castiel could picture it all too clearly moving under himself, and a low groan slipped past his clenched teeth. Dean must have heard it, and his hips snapped up sharply in response. 

Their eyes met. 

Dean’s body trembled and seized, and he spilled over his hand with a broken satisfied sigh. Castiel stared as pulse after pulse marked Dean’s skin and Dean stroked himself lazily through the aftershocks. At last, the room fell quiet. 

“Will that be all, Sir?” Castiel rasped. Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back. 

“Yes, that will be all.”

 

\---

 

Castiel stumbled out of the room and ran up to his chamber. Nobody was to be seen in the hallways, the servants were all down for breakfast. He closed the door behind him and fell back against the frame, already nestling his pants open and gripping his aching cock. One, two, three hard strokes were all he needed before he came with a soft whine. 

He was lost. 

 

\---

 

Castiel didn’t know what to do. He didn’t understand what Lord Winchester wanted from him, but by god, he wanted to give it. Over the next days, he watched him closely whenever he had the chance to. He stood silently in the room when Dean talked to tenants and made wise and thoughtful decisions. Castiel watched him discussing politics and philosophy with his brother and couldn’t help being impressed by his quick wit and his empathy. Castiel served dinner and organized visits and helped keep the household running while Dean worked twenty hours a day, always in control, always responsible. 

Castiel could see the weight on his shoulders. Dean barely ever smiled.  _ He smiles at me _ , he thought,  _ and I’ve seen him lose control _ . 

They never talked about what happened that morning. But Castiel felt the silent tension between them form into anticipation. Every morning, he opened the door to Dean’s bedroom just far enough to slip through to hide whatever waited for him from prying eyes. He imagined a hundred different scenarios for the next incident, and the evening found him on his belly, moving against his rough sheets, while his pillow muffled his grunts and moans, and it always ended with that one name.

_ Dean. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a small yet important piece of fabric makes an appearance ... Enjoy!

 

 

Mr. Singer waited for him sitting at the kitchen table the next Monday. When Castiel entered, he waved and beckoned him over. 

“Sit down, Novak.” A heavy feeling settled in Castiel’s stomach, but he sat without objecting. 

Mr. Singer looked at him for a long time. He clearly saw Castiel’s discomfort, but decided to let him stew. At last, he spoke up, his voice a deep baritone. 

“Your Lordship asked about you.”

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. What did Dean want to know? Was he searching for a reason to fire him?

“He asked about your previous employers and your family. I told him you had the best recommendations, - otherwise I wouldn’t have hired you, - and that your folks are good Christians.”

That much wasn’t a lie, Castiel guessed. He preferred the term  _ bigots,  _ for his parents had very strict convictions he had found stifling at best. But Mr. Singer didn’t have to know about that. Castiel had taken the first opportunity to leave his home and found work as far away as possible. In the rare letters he received from his mother she had made clear what she thought of his decision to serve other people. She found it demeaning and would have preferred to see him as a pastor. 

Castiel wondered what she would think about him now. He was quite sure she would never talk to him again if she knew about his secret desires. Then again, not many people would be understanding if they knew. 

Schooling his features carefully, he looked over at Mr. Singer. The gray-haired man seemed in a foul mood, most likely because he was still in pain and didn’t like sitting around. Castiel hoped those were the only reasons for the frown Mr. Singer was wearing. He did a quick recap of the last days and wondered if he had done something wrong - aside from the fact that he had watched his Lordship pleasuring himself, that is. But Dean would not have mentioned anything about that, even if he regretted what had happened, that much Castiel was sure about.

So Castiel waited impatiently to learn what this conversation was really about. 

“His Lordship likes you. He told me you did very well so far, given the fact that you lack special training.”

Castiel nodded and looked down at his lap to hide his smile. This meant Dean was not planning to end his employment. Even more, it meant he probably didn’t mean to end the unconventional part of their relationship, for he would never allow Castiel to continue his position if he didn’t feel comfortable with what had aspired between them. And Dean cared enough to ask about his family. Castiel felt warm all over. 

Mr. Singer cleared his throat to get his attention. His sharp eyes focused on Castiel, and Castiel wondered just how much those eyes could see. “I just wanted to make clear that I expect your best while I’m gone. As a valet it is an honor and a duty to care for your master’s needs.”

Castiel nearly choked, but played it off with a cough. “Yes, Sir,” he said and hoped with all he had that Mr. Singer did not notice the blush he felt burning on his cheeks. 

 

\---

 

It happened again. 

Castiel closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. He almost stumbled as he took the positively deviant view in. Dean writhed on the bed while he thumbed the slit of his cock and smeared the wetness around. 

“You’re late,” Dean rasped, and Castiel felt like he should apologize, but his mouth was suddenly too dry to speak. Dean didn’t seem to upset anyway and let the accusation go. 

“Do you like what you see, Novak? Tell me.”

Castiel nodded. 

“Tell me.” What should have been a command sounded like a plea in Castiel’s ears. How could he deny it? 

“I like it, Sir. You look gorgeous.” His voice came out low and trembling and Castiel bit his lip when Dean moaned at the praise. If Dean asked him to, Castiel could go on for hours. If he had a single talented bone in his body, Castiel would write sonnets about Dean’s broad hands and the curve of his nose and the way his forehead creased just before he reached his climax. 

Castiel dug his nails deep into his palms to keep his hands behind his back. The pain steadied him. His breath came faster now, in synch with Dean’s movements. 

“Do you think about it? Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” Dean’s dark eyes moved over Castiel’s face as if he was searching for an answer, for confirmation that Castiel had told him the truth. 

“Yes, Sir,” Castiel breathed. 

Dean’s hips snapped up into his waiting fist. Fast, sharp thrusts faltered when Dean came closer to the edge. His head fell back in pleasure and exposed his long neck and throatl. Dean was clearly oblivious how that gesture affected Castiel. He wanted to suck the tender skin between his teeth, bite down right where Dean’s shoulder met the strong tendons of his neck. 

Dean’s hand tightened and twisted sharply on the upstroke while he bit his plump bottom lip. Castiel took a deep breath, his body tensed in anticipation. The smell of sweat and sex lay heavy in the air, thick like the scent of ripe wheat just before the first clap of thunder. 

Dean cried out. Castiel watched as his orgasm ran through him like a wave, his whole body shaking with it, and long stripes painted Dean’s chest and abdomen. 

Castiel wanted to lick it off him. He wanted to add his own seed to the mess on Dean’s skin, mark him as his. It was an urge so strong he flinched back from it and tried to push it down. There was no way Dean would ever allow him to do anything like that. 

Dean opened his eyes, hazy and sated, and a small smile formed on his lips. 

“That’s good to hear. I’ll dress myself.” Castiel smiled back tentatively, despite the sudden clenching in his chest.

“Very well, Sir.”

 

\---

 

Castiel still didn’t know the rules of the game they played. But after talking to Mr. Singer and the clearly intentional event that morning, he grew more confident in his hopes that the attraction he felt was reciprocated. He allowed his mind to wander. 

One of Castiel’s duties was to choose the outfit for the next day and lay it out for Dean. Castiel liked that – the thought of deciding something, be it as little as the color of Lord Winchester’s handkerchief, that influenced his day in a tiny way. 

Dean was always handsome. Castiel wanted him to look dashing, and he took pride in accomplishing that with his choices. 

Castiel busied himself with the outfit for the next day while Dean changed behind him. He had settled for his favorite. The cut of the dark grey three-piece suit hugged the width of Dean’ shoulders perfectly and narrowed just the right way to highlight his waist. And his gorgeous ass, Castiel thought. 

He didn’t hear Dean approaching. 

“Not the blue one,” Dean said and pointed at the pocket square in Castiel’s hand. “It’s old.”

“I think it brings out the color of your eyes best, Sir.” Castiel laid it down next to the waistcoat. He already regretted his boldness, but another part of him wanted to know if Dean would cave. 

Castiel turned and pulled a second, white handkerchief out of the top drawer and arranged it next to the blue one. A peace offering.

He felt Dean’s gaze on his back and he knew it darted to the clothes Castiel had prepared. Castiel held his breath, waited to be scolded or put in his place. At the same time his blood sang in his veins at the prospect of daring Dean, of finding out how far he could go. 

“Thank you, Novak. Good night.” 

Castiel didn’t meet his eye and lowered his head to hide his smile. 

“Good night, Sir.”

The next morning, Dean tucked the blue square into his pocket when they left his bedroom and breezed past Castiel without a word. 

Castiel stared at the small piece of fabric from his position by the door over the course of breakfast. Lady Winchester had to ask twice before he reacted and refilled her tea. His hand trembled ever so slightly and he nearly spilled the Earl Grey all over the linen tablecloth when he heard Lady Jessica complementing Dean on his appearance. He finished his task and turned go back to his spot. 

For the remainder of the meal, he tried not to look at Dean again and ignored the constant hum under his skin as best he could. 

Finally, Dean stood and wished his family a good day. Unable to resist, Castiel lifted his head. Dean’s eyes met his and a dark hunger moved in their depths. The blue handkerchief really brought something out in them, it seemed. 

And Castiel wanted more of it.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm ... warning for smut!?

 

He found them in the back of the drawer one day. Castiel ran his fingers over the soft silky fabric and knew at once that they didn’t belong to a woman. Visions of Dean wearing only the small piece of satin crowded his mind and he sighed. An idea formed in his mind. 

He tucked the piece of cloth in his pocket. 

That evening, he laid them out with the suit for the next day, and left. 

Castiel didn’t sleep the whole night, certain he had overstepped the boundaries of a game he didn’t know the rules of. He tossed and turned. Dean would ask him to give his notice in the morning and Castiel would have to apply for another job. In another country most likely. His heart hammered in his chest, and while he cursed himself for taking that risk, a small voice reminded him that maybe it would be worth it. 

In the morning, he felt drained and dizzy. 

When he came to Dean’s bedroom, he stood outside the door for long moments and gathered up his courage to turn the handle and open the door. 

Castiel found his master in white silk panties. The soft shiny fabric highlighted the outlines of his hard length. Dean hid his eyes behind his forearm and a deep blush tinged his whole upper body. Shallow, fast breaths moved his chest. 

“Beautiful,” Castiel whispered, and Dean sighed, relieved. Maybe he wasn’t sure about the rules either? Dean didn’t have to fear losing his job, but if anyone ever learned about this, he could lose his good name. Castiel felt for him. It must cost Dean a lot to make himself vulnerable like this. 

“Tell me what to do,” Dean said, voice low. Castiel felt untethered, intoxicated with the game they were playing. Who was the master, who the servant in this? Dean wanted Castiel to order him around, but how far could Castiel go? Would he someday be allowed to touch? His breath caught at the thought. 

“Touch your chest, Sir. Pinch your nipples.” It came out as a whisper through Castiel’s tight throat. 

Dean lowered his arms, but kept his eyes closed. He stroked down over his pecs and up again to his neck, before his right hand wandered to his right nipple to play with it. It budded under his ministrations. 

“Harder,” Castiel grated, and he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. Deep, commanding, and raw with desire. Dean’s whole body jerked on the bed when he pinched the nub. A low whine broke free from him and Castiel’s stomach tightened at the sound. He felt powerful, and being trusted with this man’s pleasure – a trust that went far beyond this situation, because if any of this became public, Dean’s reputation would be destroyed, – was a heady feeling. 

A thousand half-formed images and idea ran through his mind. Oh, he had thought about this, he had wondered and fantasized about what Dean would like, what would make him squirm and shiver with need. 

“Keep your right hand there, and move the other one between your legs.” 

Dean obeyed without hesitation, but he still didn’t meet Castiel’s eyes. 

“Yes, like that. Open wider. Let me see.” Castiel couldn’t believe the ease with which those words came over his lips. Dean panted hard now and spread his legs to show Castiel what he wanted to see. The white silk highlighted more than it kept hidden. There was a wet spot growing rapidly where the head of Dean’s cock strained against the fabric. Dean’s hand moved towards it. 

“No,” Castiel bit out, and he hoped he wasn’t ruining everything with his next words, “lower.”

Dean whimpered at that and his hand shook when he trailed lower over his perineum and down between his cheeks. He rubbed over his hole with a needy whine and Castiel’s knees nearly buckled under him. 

Opening his stance to find his equilibrium, Castiel unclasped his hands to adjust his aching erection in his pants and groaned from even this small amount of friction. Dean’s eyes flew open at the sound, dark and glazed over and full of hunger.  

Without ever breaking eye contact, Castiel said, “Wet your fingers.” 

He pressed the back of his hand against his groin but didn’t move otherwise. Dean sucked two of his fingers in his mouth while he pushed the silk to the side with his other hand to reveal the pink, delicate skin between his cheeks. 

The air in the room suddenly became too thick to breathe, like water, and Castiel was drowning in his own and Dean’s lust. He couldn’t think of a better way to die.

Dean’s fingers left his mouth with a wet sound and he brought them down to circle his hole, clearly preparing to push them inside. 

“Not yet,” Castiel breathed. He watched, mesmerized, as Dean rubbed over the sensitive skin,  clenching, waiting. 

“Please,” Dean moaned with a desperate note that shot right to Cas’ groin. Making Dean beg was rapidly becoming his favorite thing in the world. 

“What, Sir? What do you want? Ask, and maybe I will allow it.” Was that really him uttering these indecent, inappropriate things in the bedroom of a member of the English aristocracy? Castiel didn’t dare breathe while he waited for Dean’s answer. 

“I want to... Please… I need…” His hips moved in circles and Castiel could see the tip of his erection peaking from the underwear now, leaving wet streaks on his belly. 

Castiel would give anything to be able to close the distance and blanket Dean’s body with his own. He couldn’t. Even if he gave the commands, Dean had to be the one to allow him the next step. 

So instead of following the insistent, burning want, he swallowed and said: “Do it, Sir.”

Dean pushed his index finger past his entrance and gasped softly. Castiel could see Dean’s body accepting the intrusion. Dean had clearly done this before. Castiel’s imagination ran wild with images of Dean finding pleasure this way. 

After a short while Dean started moving his hand and his hips in time. A second finger followed and Castiel observed as it being swallowed by Dean’s body greedily. He imagined how it would feel if it were his fingers, exploring the tight heat, or his cock buried deep. 

Castiel gripped the base of his erection to stop the rising tension in his spine and his balls. His breathing was as ragged as Dean’s who angled his hips to find a better position. When his fingertips met the perfect spot, he shouted, broken and hoarse. 

“Faster,” Castiel urged and he wondered if Dean would be able to come like this, two fingers in his ass, under the eyes of his valet. Maybe he could, Castiel thought, for he was getting close just from watching Dean falling apart. 

Dean bit is bottom lip and stared at Castiel wide-eyed while his fingers vanished in his hole in sharp thrusts. The room filled with filthy wet sounds. Green eyes, nearly black with want, begged Castiel to do something, anything, to get Dean over the edge. Dean’s cock still lay neglected, curving up against his stomach, flushed to a deep red and begging to be touched. 

Castiel debated allowing Dean to bring a hand to his cock and get himself to completion this way. But  _ he _ wanted to be the one to give him his release. He needed to touch Dean just this once. 

Castiel went over to the bed. Dean’s eyes followed every movement and his strong body tensed in anticipation. Castiel stopped next to Dean, close, and rubbed his palm over his confined cock a few times for Dean to see. Being fully dressed while Dean lay before him, nearly naked and writhing in pleasure, make the situation even more decadent and arousing. 

Castiel slowly leaned down and brought his mouth to Dean’s ear. He took a deep breath, let Dean's scent flood his senses, and reached out to tweak Dean’s already swollen nipple, hard. His lips brushed over the sheel of Dean's ear while he grated “Come for me, Sir.” Then he retreated. 

Dean didn’t make a sound. His body jerked up as if it wanted to meet Castiel. Thick ribbons spurted from Dean’s cock, high up over his chest and his stomach, a drop even caught on his throat. Castiel took a step back to lean against the wall, his eyes glued to Dean’s groin and the mess that was left of the white panties.  _ I am spoiled for any other man _ , he thought, because nothing would ever be able to come close to this. 

Dean’s head fell to the side. His breathing slowed. Dean licked his red, plump lips and looked at Castiel. 

“That was amazing,” Dean whispered. He cast his eyes down, lashes fanning beautifully over his cheeks, as if he were suddenly shy. “Will you… will you touch me again?” 

Castiel heard an insecurity in his question that made his heart ache. Their close proximity, the openness in Dean’s gaze – this was somehow way more intimate than everything that happened before. 

Dean wasn’t just asking for a continuation of their game here. He wanted to  _ be _ with Castiel, share this with him instead of having him witness Dean’s own pleasure, and Castiel’s heart sped up, stuttered. Could he risk that this became anything more than a fantasy? 

He had dreamed about this, hoped for the smallest chance that Dean would want more, that he would allow Castiel to share his bed. And while he had dreamed about it and watched Dean day in, day out, his feelings had built into something so much bigger than lust. His heart filled with joy whenever their gazes met. He had never felt more alive than in this room when Dean entrusted him with his pleasure. 

If they took another step, there would be no turning back. 

The impossibility of the situation settled on Castiel's shoulders, in his gut. Dean watched him with wide and fearful eyes. The decision was made when Castiel’s heart lurched and his chest felt suddenly too small to contain it. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

Panic constricted his lungs.

He couldn’t risk it.

Castiel straightened and pulled on his most neutral expression like a shield. “If that is what you want, Sir.”

He could tell the moment the rebuttal registered. A flicker of hurt washed over Dean’s face before he donned his own mask. Just like that, he was Lord Winchester again. 

“That will be all, Novak.” 

Castiel nodded and moved like an automaton. He blinked away the burning in his eyes. 

It was better this way. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

They didn’t talk much after that. Castiel went through the motions and avoided looking at Dean as best he could. He told himself he should be glad that nothing had grown from that  _ something _ between them. He had been spared and Dean too. 

A week went by like this. Tense silence, averted gazes, careful movements. 

He sat with Charlie at the large table in the staff rooms one evening. They were alone, a rarity in the bustling servant’s quarters. 

“So how is work with his Lordship,” she asked, not looking up from the gown she worked on. Lady Mary had ripped it on one of her brisk morning walks. 

Castiel watched her. Did she know something? Charlie had always had a keen eye for the moods of others. 

“It’s good, I guess. I can’t replace Mr. Singer, of course.” 

Charlie made a sound in her throat that clearly said she didn’t believe him. “Lady Mary says he’s not himself lately. Moody. She worries about him.” Charlie met his gaze, and she looked worried, too. 

“He has a lot on his mind. It’s a great responsibility to be master of the house at his young age.”

Charlie shrugged. “It didn’t seem to bother him before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks heartbroken.”

Castiel took a deep breath and concentrated on the black boots he was polishing, rubbing the cloth more roughly over the leather than strictly necessary. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, he seems distracted. Lady Mary says he should marry soon. He needs someone at his side, someone to share the burden with. I think he must be lonely.”

Castiel said nothing, even though he thought the same. Dean  _ was _ lonely. Castiel could sense it in the quiet moments they shared. And he would give a lot to see him happy. But it wasn’t his place to utter those thoughts. It wasn’t his place to secretely wish to be the one to make him happy. 

“Maybe you can steer him in the right direction. I have a feeling he would listen to your advice.” Charlie’s eyes had a calculating glint in them, as if she was saying something else here. Castiel chose to ignore it. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” he said stiffly and rose to put the shoes back on the rack. “Good night, Charlie.”

“Good night, Castiel.”

Her words stuck with him for the rest of the night.  _ I think he must be lonely _ . Castiel knew exactly how that felt. 

 

\---

 

After so many days of keeping conversation to the bare minimum and tiptoeing around what had happened, Dean finally spoke up. “Look. I feel like I have to apologize, Novak. I let this…” His finger flicked to and fro between them. “I let it go for too far. I am sorry to have put you in that position just for my own… enjoyment, I guess… it wasn’t fair to you. I feel sick with it. I had assumed… that you might be interested.” His voice trailed into silence and then he squared his shoulders. “I would understand if you chose to search for a new position. I could arrange for another valet until Singer is back on his feet.”

Castiel’s mind whirled. So Dean thought he was disgusted with what happened? That it somehow happened against his will? Such a silly idea. But at the same time, something warm unfolded in his chest at seeing Dean so concerned for his feelings. He cleared his throat. “I wanted it, Sir.”

“Then why…?” There it was again, that smallness in his voice that made Castiel want to wrap his arms around Dean and shield him from the world. It took everything he had to face him and stay strong. 

“Because whatever this is can only lead to tragedy, Sir. You may be seen and ridiculed in public. I can lose my position and may not ever get one in another house if word gets out. It isn’t worth the risk.” The lie fell from his lips too easy. Castiel cast down his eyes, afraid that Dean could see the truth in them - that he was long past adhering to logic when it came to Dean Winchester. 

The room fell silent for long moments. Castiel fixed his gaze somewhere left to Dean on his desk. In the corner of his eye, he could see Dean’s hand twitch as if he wanted to reach out. Hope and dread warred inside Castiel.  

In the end, Dean sighed. The hand clenched into a fist. Castiel knew the outcome before the words left Dean’s mouth. 

“You’re right. I talked to Singer the other day. He will be back in a few days. Until then, I will manage on my own. It will be enough if you prepare my clothes before I come up from dinner.” His voice was soft, but resolute. 

Castiel nodded, but didn’t lift his head. “Will that be all, Sir?”

“Yes, Novak. That will be all.”

 

\---

 

Mr. Singer took up his duties two days later. Castiel was back to his position as second footman. He served the meals and cleaned shoes and drove the carriage when the family wanted to go to the village. His days were full of work and he was glad he fell into bed every evening, too exhausted to wallow in misery and regret his words to Dean. 

It helped that Dean wasn’t often to be seen. He spent most days at the farms on the vast estate to plan for the coming harvest. He came home late and ate at the library, hunched over his books, where Mr. Singer served him alone. Castiel didn’t see him for days on end, and when he joined the family for dinner, he was quiet and seemed preoccupied. 

The house was bustling with excitement for the nearing birth of Lady Jessica’s and Lord Samuel’s first child. The beautiful wife of the younger Mr. Winchester glowed with warmth and happiness. Everybody in the house was happy with them, and the family seemed carefree like it had last been before the death of Lord John, Mildred told him. Castiel rarely joined in when the maids speculated about the gender of the child or discussed names. But he did wish the young couple all the best. 

Dean was busy with preparation for the arrival of his nephew or his niece. Rooms had to be refurbished and the search for a nanny was taking a lot of time. None of the girls and women applying seemed good enough, even if Lady Jessica told Dean more than once she would be delighted with the candidate. 

One early morning in late summer, when the white sheets of mist still covered the lawns around the house, the bell rang for Lady Jessica’s room. 

“It’s time,” Mildred cried when she ran into the kitchen to prepare something for breakfast and make tea. Soon the staff quarters were bustling with activity. The maids went up to ask for instructions. Tea was brewed and brought to the library. 

And then they waited. 

Castiel sat with Charlie and listened to her animated chatter. She had talked to Lady Mary about the child over the last weeks and could tell them that Lady Jessica felt fine and the doctor was sure there wouldn’t be any problems. 

The baby was born in the late afternoon. A healthy girl, 7 pounds strong, with big blue eyes and a good voice: Lady Joanna Winchester. Samuel had promised his father to name his first child after him. 

Castiel went up to congratulate and accepted the glass of brandy Mr. Singer poured the staff In celebration. Over the rim of his glass, Castiel’s gaze met Dean’s, if only for a moment. Castiel closed his eyes and drank. When he lowered the glass, Dean was gone. 

The family went to bed early. Samuel stayed with his wife and his little daughter and Lady Mary retired after an exciting day. Dean still sat in the library, but told the waiting servants they could leave. His shoulder were hunched and Castiel saw in his unsteady movements that Dean had drunk more than his usual two glasses. It wasn’t his business. He excused himself and left. Dean didn’t say anything. 

Castiel went up to the servant’s quarters, glad that he was finally on his own. He loosened his collar and opened his cuffs while slipping out of his shoes. 

Going over to the small window, he pulled the handle and opened it to let the cool evening air in. The gardens under him lay in darkness. He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, the door behind him creaked. 

Dean stood in the doorway, hesitating. Castiel went over and grabbed him by the lapels to pull him inside. After a quick look up and down the hall, he closed the door. 

“You could have been seen,” he hissed, not caring about how inappropriate his tone was. 

Dean leaned back against the door, a bit unsteady, eyes unfocused. 

“You’re inebriated,” Castiel stated, taking in Dean disheveled appearance. Dean lifted his gaze. It flickered over Castiel’s face and finally settled on his mouth. Dean’s hand pressed against the wood behind him to push himself forward. He moved with the kind of single-minded determination only the drunk possessed. 

Castiel whispered, “No”. That stopped Dean. He came nearer, slowly and wobbly on his feet, before he framed Castiel’s face with his warm, broad hands. His thumbs stroked over Castiel’s cheekbones and Castiel wanted to lean into the tender touch and never face reality again. 

“Why not?” Dean drawled.

Castiel could smell the brandy on his breath and his stale scent from a day spent in a room with too many people. His face was so close he could make out details even in the dim light. Dean’s long lashes, his slightly bent nose, the freckles dusting his cheeks. Castiel licked his lips and Dean’s eyes followed the movement. 

“We said we wouldn’t”, Castiel said, and it sounded weak and unconvincing in his own ears. 

“Hmm,” answered Dean. “I got a little niece today. Tomorrow the house will be full of people congratulatin’ me ‘n tellin’ me that I should find a wife and get some kids on m’ own.”

Castiel nodded, but he had no idea what to say. His stomach turned whenever someone mentioned the possibility of Dean marrying. 

“An’ I’ll feel like a failure b’cause I don’t want a wife.” He came closer still, and his breath whispered over Castiel’s lips. “I want you.”

Castiel sighed and tilted his head up. Their lips met. Castiel grabbed Dean’s shirt again and pulled him close. The first brush over Dean slightly opened lips sealed the deal. They were warm and full and pliant under his. Castiel captured Dean’s upper lip and drank in his little moan. Eager for more, he took a taste with his tongue and felt Dean open up, welcoming him in. 

Castiel’s blood rushed down his body in a heartbeat, and, a little lightheaded, he licked deep into Dean’s mouth and coaxed Dean’s tongue to meet his. He felt ecstatic, drunk on the small sounds Dean made, from the taste of brandy, Dean’s scent and the heat of his body so close. Dean stroked against his tongue and along his teeth, playful, and Castiel reciprocated with sucking on Dean’s bottom lip and biting down just enough to hurt a little. Dean gasped. 

_ God, the sounds he makes _ . _ I want to hear him scream,  _ Castiel thought, and the sudden fierceness of that need cleared his mind a little. They had to stop. It had been foolish to even start it. He leaned back and released Dean’s lips. 

“We have to stop.” His fists still clenched around handfuls of Dean’s shirt, and Castiel loosened his hold. “I’m sorry, Sir, but it would be a mistake.”

“B’cause it’s me or b’cause it’s here?” Dean asked, voice still slurred.

“Both. And because you are drunk and can’t think straight right now.” Castiel tried to smooth the wrinkles out of his master’s shirt, and didn’t look up. “You should go to bed and forget this ever happened.”

Dean chuckled without humor. He took a deep breath and turned to go. With his hand on the handle, he murmured, “I don’t think I can.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I told you I would keep the angst and the pining down to a minimum? Didn't work out all that well. Next chapter will make up for that I swear.

 

 

Dean had been right. The next day, the house was bustling with people who wanted to congratulate the young couple. Castiel came up to help greet the guests and offer refreshments. Dean smiled and shook hands and drank with the neighbors. Nobody saw the strain in his shoulders. Nobody cared about the small blue piece of fabric in his waistcoat. 

Castiel heard whispered conversations when he wandered through the room. More often than not, it centered about the bachelor status of Lord Winchester just like Dean had predicted. Castiel was privy to their curiosity and their prejudiced gossip. Most members of the aristocracy didn’t seem to be aware of the servants, or they didn’t deem it necessary to parse their words. 

When Castiel served in the library, the Dowager countess Markham told her niece to have an eye on Dean and be sure to present herself favorably. They had moved here only weeks ago to live with Lady Markham’s sister. Said sister, Lady Deveraux, almost choked on her champagne and warned the girl: Lord Winchester was rumored to be have unnatural inclinations. 

The staged whisper was loud enough to carry over to the next group and turn some heads. Castiel barely stopped himself from spilling a glass of brandy over Lady Deveraux’ gown and ruin it. His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth and ordered his feet to move. He let his eyes roam over the heads of the visitors to find Dean’s tall figure, blessedly far away from the venomous gossipers. As if he could feel his gaze, Dean turned and Castiel averted his eyes. 

Their paths crossed all through the day and Castiel inclined his head politely whenever he brushed past Dean with a tray. Their gazes met for seconds from opposite ends of the room. And every time Castiel found it hard to breathe, his heart constricted in an almost unpleasant way. 

The events of last night tumbled through his mind again and again. The feeling of Dean’s lips and his warm body in Castiel’s arms was fresh in his memory. He had always known that he would not be able to turn away when he let his guard down. He had been right. 

The day dragged on and when the evening came, the visitors left one by one. Castiel had just refilled the glasses and looked around for empty ones to take back to the kitchen. Dean was nowhere to be seen as Castiel made his way over to the balcony. After a day spent inside with too many people, he needed some fresh air and a moment alone. He wouldn’t be missed if he stepped out for a few minutes. 

The space was already occupied. Dean stood with his back to the wide door, hands on the balustrade. The setting sun cast the landscape behind him in soft colors and played lovingly around Dean’s silhouette. Castiel would never tire of admiring the broadness of Dean’s shoulders, his strong arms and narrow hips, the way he held himself, always willing to take on responsibility. 

Castiel cleared his throat to make himself known and walked around to look for abandoned champagne flutes. Dean didn’t acknowledge him at first, and then turned for a brief moment to make sure they were alone. 

“I’m sorry for my behaviour yesterday. I have no excuse for my lack of control. I… felt out of step and had a few drinks too many and you had to deal with the consequences of my poor decisions.” His voice was soft and low. Castiel fought to keep himself in place and not go over and wind his arms around Dean’s waist, hold him close and tell him how unnecessary his apology was. 

He took position next to the door so he wouldn’t been seen from inside but would hear if someone approached. Dean looked over his shoulder again and his eyes were haunted. Castiel shot him a small smile before Dean turned his back again. Castiel spoke up. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Dean’s shoulder sagged in relief and for the first time that day, the tension seemed to bleed out of him. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Dean said now, “I have these thoughts and images in my mind about you and me, and I had hoped it would all go away, but it’s only getting stronger. I don’t understand myself anymore. And at the same time I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you.” Dean hung his head, as if defeated. “I don’t know what to do and it frightens me.”

Castiel knew exactly what Dean meant. He felt the same. He had begun to care deeply for a man he should have no interest in beyond his professional obligations. He wanted to give him what he needed and put a satisfied smile on his face again. He wished he could take away the doubt and the guilt and the fear and find a way for them to follow their longing. 

They had formed a special bond in the most unlikely way, so far out of the realm of social conventions they couldn’t even name it. But it was nonetheless a bond grounded in friendship and mutual respect and, in Castiel’s case at least, a deeper emotion he wasn’t ready to put a name on yet. 

They took a risk with every time they talked to each other, with every heated gaze, and Castiel was well aware of the possible consequences. But he found himself unable to be ashamed of his feelings. Dean made him feel alive, raw, laid bare to his very core, as if the artificial world around them fell away and left only the bones of reality. 

When Castiel took control and Dean ceded it to him, and they both took pleasure from it, who was to say that it was wrong? Most marriages were built on less. Most people couldn’t ever hope to experience the heights of pleasure he had shared with Dean even in the short moments they had. And here Dean stood, with guilt and doubt burdening him, just because he had been honest about his desires. 

Castiel stole a glance into the library to make sure they would not be disturbed before he made his decision. This was not the time for explanations or reassurance. Castiel wanted to wipe the self-doubt from Dean's beautiful face. If this was all they had, he would make it worthwhile. He took two steps closer to Dean, a distance that would still seem appropriate at a cursory glance. He lowered his voice and spoke fast in case anyone would come out for fresh air. “I want you to get on your hands and knees tonight and touch yourself. Pretend I’m there, watching. Make it last. Can you do that for me, Sir?”

Dean gasped and straightened but didn’t turn around. He nodded.

“What was that?” Castiel growled. 

“Yes, I will do that for you,” Dean breathed and Castiel had to close his eyes for a moment to gather himself. He walked by Dean and let his hand rest only for a moment on Dean’s lower back, before he retrieved his tray. 

“Goodnight, Sir.”

Dean turned now and Castiel was nearly blinded by  the quick flash of a dazzling smile. 

“Goodnight.”

 

\---

 

Mr. Singer came to him a week later. He brought a stack of books to the staff’s dining table. 

“His Lordship told me a while ago you had shown interest in the workings of the estate. Is that true?”

Castiel flinched at the tone but composed himself. He had learned in the time he worked in this house now that Mr. Singer always sounded like that, a little condescending, rough. Mildred had told him that as long as he found someone worthy to talk to them at all, everything was fine. 

Now he nodded. “Yes, Mr. Singer, I find the management of the farms and the house quite fascinating.”

“Don’t use that fancy language on me, boy. As long as we’re down here we can talk like real people.” He said it gruffly, but the corner of his mouth twitched a little under the thick beard. He shoved the stack of books over to Castiel to examine. 

“There’s something on bookkeeping, farming, pig-breeding and such. There’s more in the library upstairs. If you are interested in anything special, I can ask Lady Mary to borrow them.”

Castiel noticed Mr. Singer left Dean out of this, aside from the part he played in informing his valet about Castiel’s interest. Castiel wondered if Dean knew about Mr. Singer’s plan, if he had a hand in it and asked his valet to keep quiet. Or maybe this was just Mr. Singer’s way of giving Castiel the means to apply for another position - somewhere else. The thought quenched his excitement but he reached for the books anyway and lay his hands on the tome at the top. 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Singer.” 

Singer left and Castiel stroked over the rough leather under his hands, before he sighed and opened the first page. Before he knew it, the evening had turned into night and Castiel’s eyes were dry from keeping them open for too long. His spine popped when he straightened and picked up the books to go up to his room. He smiled when he fell asleep. Sheep and rye and fertilizing techniques filled his dreams that night. 

From that day Castiel spent every free minute over his books. He hadn’t know the complexities behind the running of an estate this size. His respect for Dean’s mind and the work he did increased with every new aspect he learned about. 

Mr. Singer brought him new books whenever he asked for them just as he had promised, and Castiel read each evening and took notes until his eyes burned. His whole childhood he had been surrounded by religious books, and while he liked some of the stories, he had never immersed himself like this. For every possible problem, someone had already thought about a solution. Some of the works dated back to the Romans. So Castiel asked for classic books and soon found his love for ancient philosophy as he widened his knowledge and interests and enjoyed the experience of his mind flexing and expanding into new territory. 

Charlie smiled whenever she found him hunched over his latest bounty. “You should do something with it,” she said. “All this knowledge should be put to use.” 

Castiel nodded absentmindedly. He had thought about that. But learning held a reward in itself for him, and so he delayed the question of his future as best he could. For making a decision might very well mean he had to leave Dean. 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a few more tags ... There will be two or maybe three chapters after this and I guess I'll post them over the week.

 

 

Every fall, the Winchesters hosted a big boar hunt. The whole house was busy for weeks beforehand to prepare for the twenty guests from some of the most influential families of the area. 

The house was under-staffed for the occasion. When the big day came, Castiel had offered to help at the stables since a lot more hands than usual were needed and the staff accompanying the guests would help at the house. 

Castiel was happy to take on the task. He spent the day between hay and the foals too young to be taken out on the hunt. In the late afternoon, the party came back, escorted by a yapping pack of beagles. The day had been a success, and the faces of the participants were bright from the sun and the fresh air and the excitement. 

Castiel helped the ladies unmount and started to dry the horses. The laughter and voices receded when the group walked back to the house. 

“Are you pursuing a second career as a stable boy then?”

Castiel gasped, surprised to hear Dean’s voice behind him. He had thought Dean would have walked back with the others. Castiel put down the brush and turned slowly. 

“I rather like the work. Horses are friendly and easy to be around.” Castiel didn’t mean it as a jab, but it sounded like one even to his own ears. 

“Hmmph.” Dean had clasped his hands behind his back and stood rigid. He was a few inches taller than Castiel, broader, full of confidence. The late sun played with the hints of copper in Dean’s hair and his eyes glowed with the fading adrenaline of the hunt. 

It took Castiel’s breath away. He had always thought Dean beautiful, but since he knew what lay underneath the cool exterior, Castiel found him even more irresistible. He bit his lip, suddenly nervous about being so close, alone. Dean’s gaze flew down to Castiel’s mouth. Castiel’s breath hitched. He should turn around, or better, find an excuse to leave. Every time they were in close proximity, he felt his control slip. But in the end, it was always Dean who started it. 

Dean took three long strides towards him. A warm hand landed on Castiel’s shoulder, brushed over his shirt up to his throat, and he sighed when Dean’s strong fingers curled around his neck. Dean’s thumb touched his bottom lip where his hungry gaze still rested. 

“Castiel,” Dean rasped, as if he couldn’t help himself. Castiel’s heart jumped at hearing his name fall from Dean’s lips for the first time, intimate and full of affection. He wanted to hear it again and again. He wanted to hear it as a tender murmur, as a helpless moan, as an uninhibited shout. 

Dean watched him closely, and seeing Castiel’s reaction, he whispered his name again, shortened and urgent: “Cas.” 

And then Dean leaned in until his breath ghosted over Castiel’s face. The world stood still for a second before it adjusted in its new axis. To Castiel, the next motion was as inevitable as the setting of the sun. Their lips met in a soft caress. Dean’s hand angled Castiel’s chin before he pressed close again. 

His doubts and fears would be back later, but right now Castiel felt only pure joy. Dean’s lips met his own, warm and soft, plush and perfect. Castiel brought his hands up to bury his fingers in Dean’s short hair and pull his head closer. When Dean’s lips parted on a sigh, Castiel teased the tip of his tongue between them to get a taste. 

Dean fell pliant under his hands and Castiel could pinpoint the exact moment he gave up all control. Castiel’s cock stirred at Dean’s little gasps and moans, and even if he had to angle his head up to meet Dean, Castiel was the one who held the reins. They fell into these roles with ease and Castiel wondered if others experienced this, too. How was it possible that their desires completed and amplified each other every time they were near? 

He licked deep into Dean’s mouth and tugged hard on his hair, transforming the tender kiss into something darker, a thing full of heady possibilities. 

A saddle fell to the ground. Castiel hadn’t realized they’d moved until Dean’s back hit the stable door and their teeth clanked together. He couldn’t think past the moment, past the perfect bliss of Dean’s willing body pliant against his own. The danger of being seen, the fact that they both had decided they would stop this, the inevitable heartbreak all meant nothing right now. 

Right now, Castiel wanted more of Dean’s sweet surrender. 

He pulled back from Dean’s mouth and admired how red, puffed and slick his lips looked in the dying light. He fixed his stare on Dean’s dark eyes. 

“Don’t move. Keep quiet.” 

Dean’s eyebrows rose in question. Castiel didn’t elaborate. He sank to his knees and grabbed Dean’s belt. Dean muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like blasphemy. Castiel looked up in warning. Dean shut his mouth.  _ Good. _

The fabric of Dean’s pants already strained around the outline of his cock. Castiel ran his fingertips over it, followed the lines to the head and rubbed over it a few times before he remembered they didn’t have much time and freed Dean’s erection with swift and sure motions. 

Castiel took a few moment to admire Dean’s cock after having to keep his distance for so long. Dean was thick though a bit shorter than Castiel, and slightly curved to the right. Dark veins showed under the soft thin skin. Castiel licked a long stripe along the underside and swirled his tongue around the tip. Dean uttered a broken sound, eyes fixed on Castiel’s lips around his cock, and his hands gripped the top of the gate in his back so hard his knuckles turned white. 

Castiel soothed his palms over Dean’s thighs. Even though he was kneeling, he had never felt so powerful. Dean was completely at his mercy. His pleasure lay in Castiel’s hands. Castiel gripped the base of Dean’s cock and guided it down to his lips. Never breaking eye contact, he teased the slit with his tongue and marveled at the salty taste, humming low in his throat.  

A wanton sound made Castiel look up. Dean’s mouth opened and he sucked his bottom lip back, bit down hard to hold in whatever he wanted to say. He stayed quiet just like Castiel had ordered. Castiel closed his lips and sucked, eager and sloppy, to reward him. 

He could taste Dean on his tongue and Dean’s scent filled his senses and the low needy noises met his ears like music. Castiel’s eyes fell shut in bliss. He had dreamed of this, so many times, and not one of his fantasies came close to this reality. Dean’s cock bucked between his lips and Dean’s thighs trembled under Castiel’s palms as he strained to hold back from moving into closer, deeper, following Castiel’s orders so well. Castiel groaned. He had wanted to make it all about Dean, but his pants became uncomfortably tight and his desire built with every bob of his head and every bead of precome he teased from Dean. 

He let Dean’s erection slip from his mouth and sat back on his haunches. While he fumbled awkwardly with the buttons of his pants and shoved his hand down into the opening, he watched Dean watch him. He pushed his shirt to the side to give Dean a better view and started to jerk himself with a loose fist. 

“See what you do to me, Sir?” Castiel snapped his hips up to meet his hand. Dean nodded, eyes glazed over. The tension built quickly in Castiel’s spine and his stomach. He leaned forward again to suck Dean’s cock back into his mouth and built a rhythm for them both. 

Dean’s body curved over him, tense and ready to snap, and Castiel could hear the old wood of the door crack under Dean’s hold. Dean still kept quiet except for a few small desperate noises in the back of his throat, and Castiel almost regretted his order, because he wanted to hear Dean sing his name in that helpless, hoarse voice. The wet sounds of Castiel’s mouth and his hand seemed unnaturally loud all of a sudden. 

They could be seen at any moment, and Castiel tried to imagine how they would look to an unsuspecting passersby, with Dean’s pants pooled around his ankles, his chest shining with sweat, his lips red and bitten. Castiel, kneeling, stripping his own cock while Dean was buried in his mouth. The image, obscene and raw, was vivid in his mind and Castiel almost wished he could leave his body to see them like this and commit the picture to memory. 

He twisted his palm over the head of his erection and pushed his mouth down to feel the tip of Dean’s cock nudging against his throat, and then kept pushing. Dean uttered a beautiful noise, and Castiel could feel him swell against his lips before the first shot of his seed met the back of Castiel’s throat. 

Castiel moaned around the pulses of Dean’s climax and tried to swallow everything Dean had to give. While Dean softened under his lips, Castiel lapped at what was left of his release between harsh breaths, unwilling to miss one drop. His own peak lay just out of reach, and he tightened his hand to chase it. He panted and willed back the euphoric feeling that had almost tipped him over before, as his thrust became erratic and sharper. 

_ Not enough. _ Castiel leaned his head against Dean’s thigh and whined low with every motion of his hand. His whole body ached with the need to come. As if he sensed it, Dean bent to touch Castiel’s shoulder. Dean helped him up until he stood, and then he captured his head again between his broad hands, kissed him firmly, and turned around. 

Castiel lust-addled brain didn’t catch up, until Dean breathed two words that nearly did Castiel in right then. 

“Mark me.”

Castiel gripped Dean’s hip with one hand and his straining cock with the other. Dean leaned forward to present his well-rounded ass, and then opened his stance so Castiel could see his tight hole. It was all it took. His orgasm slammed into his spine. His balls sized up and his vision whited out for a second, before it was filled with the sight of his come meeting Dean’s backside in long stripes. 

A drop trickled down Dean’s crease and Dean moaned low, as if this was exactly what he craved, too. Castiel swiped his thumb through the mess, over Dean’s entrance, completely mesmerized by the image. Dean moved back minutely, and Castiel complied. He pushed the tip of his finger against the tightness, dipped into Dean’s body just a fraction, and his spent cock tried to stir into action at the possibility of taking this even further. 

They couldn’t, though.

“The party will miss you. They might send someone.” Castiel’s voice was barely a rasp. His throat felt raw and dry like sandpaper. Dean sighed. He straightened slowly, while Castiel took his handkerchief out and started wiping away the signs of their actions,  _ his _ actions, from Dean’s skin. Dean turned and stilled Castiel’s hand. 

“Don’t.” 

Dean’s eyes were big and soft although the hunger still lingered. It took a moment for Castiel to understand before heart skipped a beat and started pounding in his ears. Dean would wear his mark, invisible for other eyes, when he got back to his guests and family. 

They stood and looked at each other for long moments, finding reassurance in the other’s gaze, and the promise that this was not the end. Castiel had no idea where they would go from here, but he knew now that he was helpless to deny himself and Dean anything. 

Dean tilted his head forward in that way he did when the storm was over and left only quiet intimacy. Castiel cupped his cheek. “May I kiss you, Sir?” 

“Please,” Dean answered in a small voice, and Castiel leaned in to capture his plump lips with his own. Happiness and affection swelled in his chest until he nearly couldn’t breathe, until the emotion filled every part of him and his skin was too tight to contain it all. 

“Find me again,” he whispered, and Dean nodded before he turned and left the stables, spine rigid again, composed, back in the role he was born to fill and only dared to leave under Castiel’s hands. 

Castiel had been so sure he would never fall in love. 

Dean Winchester had proved him wrong. 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go (and maybe a bonus one ...). Thank you all for commenting and subscribing and being awesome.

Autumn grew darker and the house prepared for the cold season. Fires were stoked over the day and the fashion of the Ladies converted from the bright colors of summer to subdued tones. The harvest was over and the root cellar filled to the brim with potatoes, carrots and turnips. Under Mildred’s watchful gaze the staff preserved and dried and pickled goods for the winter. 

Castiel helped carry the glasses and earthen pots to the storage rooms. By the end of each day, his feet hurt and his shoulders felt sore. Nonetheless, he loved this season. The scents of falling leaves and the brisk air in the morning, the rare evenings that gave him the chance to read in front of the fire made him content. 

Charlie stopped by the big table to ask him about his newest topic most days and one evening, she dropped a brown folder next to him. 

“What is it?”, Castiel asked while opening the cardboard. 

“It’s the application for the agronomy exam. You’ll take it next month over at the schoolhouse.” He heard the cheeky grin in Charlie’s voice, and held back his own smile.

“Will I now?” he grumbled. Charlie laughed and clapped him on the shoulder before she left. She knew him too well. Castiel stared at his name in Charlie’s neat handwriting. Three weeks. He sighed and shoved away Lady Winchester’s copy of  _ Utopia _ . He had freshen up his knowledge about fertilizers. 

Dean made good on his promise and found him. He waited for Castiel behind the kitchen entrance to push him against the cool stone wall and steal a frantic kiss. They parted flushed and panting. A few days later Dean intercepted him on his way to the stables and pressed against him, urgent and needy, and Castiel told him how beautiful he was and how much he missed him, and Dean blushed under his words and sighed when Castiel dragged his lips over the shell of his ear and ordered him to find his release just from his own fingers that night. 

Those were short, stolen moments, but Castiel cherished them and they put a smile on his face and a spring in his step for days to come. They had to be careful though. Castiel was wary of Mr. Singer who seemed to know much more than he let on. And Charlie had told him just a few days ago that Lady Mary was sure her son had a love interest because he seemed elated and on edge as of late. 

In late October, Dean declared he wanted to rebuild the old cottage. Castiel carefully fixed his gaze on the far wall and strained to hear what was said. The building Dean talked about  lay on the edge of the estate, between the village and the hunting grounds, and had been the home of the last steward. The old man had died seven years ago and Dean hadn’t filled the position again. 

“Whyever would you do that?” Lady Winchester inquired. “Please tell me you came to your senses and want to find a new steward.” 

“I don’t know yet. But I want to have the house inhabitable again. I’ll maybe use it to hunt on the weekends. I found the hunt last month most satisfying.” Dean’s flickered over to Castiel so fast he might have missed it if his whole being hadn’t been so tuned to everything Dean said and did. “I’ll have more time for such leisures over the winter.”

Lady Winchester agreed. “Did you speak to the carpenter yet?” 

“Yes. We have talked about renovations and useful expansions. The workers will begin next week. I will be there to oversee the proceedings.”

“But I don’t want you riding out there all by yourself, especially when the weather gets worse.”

“Don’t worry, mother. I’ll take Novak.”

Castiel’s breath caught at hearing his name and he dared another glance. Dean’s face betrayed nothing but his eyes glinted. Castiel fought to keep his features neutral. He nodded and Dean inclined his head, before he turned to Lady Winchester again. 

 

\---

 

They rode together in silence. The cottage lay a few miles from the house. The air misted under the breath of the horses and in front of their faces. Castiel kept glancing over at Dean to admired his profile. Dean’s jaw was set and he sat on his black mount with his back straight and the reins loose in his hands. Dean’s thighs steered his massive black Frisian with confidence and Castiel could see his muscles working under the thick wool of his trousers. 

His own horse, a friendly bright brown mare, was smaller, and he had to concentrate on manoeuvring her since he hadn’t been on horseback for a while. When he focused back on the trail, he felt Dean’s eyes on him. 

They reached the house and dismounted. Castiel led the horses into a shed and found an old bundle of hay for them. When he went over to the cottage, he Dean kneeled in front of the fireplace. The last owner had left some dry wood that caught fire quickly. Dean stared into the flame. Castiel closed the door behind him and flinched when the old hinges protested. 

The room was empty - all the furniture had been taken back to the mansion when it was clear the house wouldn’t be used for a while. The old floor boards were dark with age. He could see the light falling through the damaged roof in the next room where the rain had destroyed the floor. Castiel went over and shut the door to keep the warmth in. 

Turning slowly, he tried to see what Dean saw. The house wasn’t big by any standards. A living room, a bedroom and a kitchen. But the layout was generous, with more space and light than crofter’s cottages. If Castiel squinted, he could imagine how it would look once the damages had been repaired. If Dean found someone for the open position, the new steward would find a welcoming and cosy home here. 

When he came back, Dean still kneeled but he had turned to fix his gaze on Castiel. They stared at each other for long moments. Castiel had waited so long to finally have Dean all for himself, a room where no one would see them, no one could hear them. Dean looked beautiful like this, face flushed from the cold, eyes unsure and waiting. The blind windows gave the empty room an otherworldly atmosphere. 

Castiel’s feet moved on their own accord until he stood next to Dean and could card his fingers gently through his light brown hair. With a soft sigh, Dean leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, pressed the side of his face against Castiel’s thigh. Castiel leaned down and brought his face close, close enough that he could count the freckles on Dean’s tanned skin, close enough to feel Dean’s breath whisper over his lips. 

His hand still buried in Dean’s hair, he pulled Dean’s head to him for a kiss. Dean pressed up against his lips. The air in the room was crisp but Dean’s mouth opened warm and wet and Castiel’s blood flooded hot through his veins. He brought his other hand up to cup Dean’s cheek and stroke his thumb over Dean’s chin to make him open wider, let Castiel in, let him explore to his liking. Dean moaned low in his throat. His fingers ghosted over Castiel’s coat, searching for a way under the fabric, until he found the buttons. 

Castiel shrugged out of the sleeves and released Dean’s sweet mouth long enough to lay the coat out on the floor. Then he opened Dean’s cuffs and helped him out of his jacket and shirt. He pushed the fabric down Dean’s shoulders and pressed a kiss into the freckled skin, inhaling deeply. 

Dean tipped back his head invitation, and Castiel licked along the soft skin of his throat, along the tendons of his neck, and brushed his lips over the sensitive spots under Dean’s jaw and behind his ear. Dean held still, while soft noises fell from his mouth. Castiel drank it all in - the sounds and the salt of Dean’s skin, his scent and the warmth. 

His hands explored the dips and curves of Dean’s body and committed Dean’s reactions to memory. When Dean shivered, he pressed Dean down on his back onto his coat. Castiel moved between Dean’s thighs and looked down at Dean splayed out like an offering. Pure want and tender affection surged through him, mingling, and both needs told him to cherish this, cherish Dean, and give him whatever he needed. 

He spread his hands on Dean’s chest, held him down and watched the rise and fall of the white delicate skin under his tanned hands. Dean lay his own fingers over his before he stroked up Castiel’s arms and to his shoulders to tug him down for another kiss. Castiel bent but didn’t meet Dean’s lips. He licked along his chest and closed his lips around the inviting nub of his right nipple to suck it hard into his mouth. Dean’s back arched gracefully, and he answered Castiel’s teasing with a soft cry that made Castiel fill out against the fabric of his pants. Castiel bit down to hear it again, and again, until Dean whimpered and grabbed for Castiel’s shoulders with trembling hands. Only then Castiel straightened and found Dean’s lips and finally lay down to bring their bodies together from head to toe. 

The fire flared next to them, heating up Castiel’s side as Dean’s whimpers stoked the flame in his gut. Dean captured his lips hungrily and thrust up against him. Castiel stilled the movement of Dean’s hips by pushing down. Their cocks aligned through the thick fabric of the their pants. They both moaned and Castiel swallowed the sound from Dean’s lips. 

Castiel let go of Dean’s hands and sat up, curious what Dean would do next. Dean lifted his upper body and reached out slowly, brushed over Castiel’s chest and shoulders and met his gaze to gauge his reaction. When Castiel held still, Dean’s fingers went for the buttons of his waistcoat and opened them before he pushed the garment back to get to his shirt. Castiel kept his body angled to give Dean the opportunity to explore, and when Dean’s finger tips finally found his bare skin, he shivered under the caress. Nobody had ever touched him like this, with so much adoration and inquisitiveness. Dean’s hands became bolder and brushed down Castiel’s abdomen before they reached for his belt. Dean hesitated. 

“Go on,” Castiel rasped and tilted his hips just slightly. The thickness of his erection was clearly visible, and Castiel felt Dean’s gaze follow the outline hungrily. Dean’s bottom lip vanished between his teeth as he fumbled to free Castiel’s cock. 

“Touch me.” The order felt new and exciting as he selfishly took what Dean offered. 

Dean obediently wrapped his hand around him and began stroking softly. Tentative and light as it was, Castiel nearly crumbled under the sensation. Dean’s gaze was fixed on Castiel’s groin, so eager, as Castiel thrust up into the channel of Dean’s palm. They were both equally affected by the sight and the feeling it seemed. Dean’s breath hitched when Castiel’s joined Dean’s hand and squeezed it tighter around his cock. He kept fucking into the tight heat, now wet from the precome he was leaking in a steady flow. Looking up, he saw Dean’ face go slack with want, his lips puffed and open around harsh breaths. Dean writhed and rubbed against Castiel’s thigh to find some relief and Castiel wanted to have him naked and touch him too but that insistent heat pooled deep in his belly and then Dean twisted his clever hand and Castiel didn’t stand a chance. 

“Oh god, yes,”Dean breathed and Castiel’s whole body reacted to the sound of his broken voice. Castiel’s cock jumped in the cage of their combined palms as he spurted thick ribbons over Dean’s chest and stomach. He had never known this kind of euphoria. Castiel marvelled at the picture of Dean splayed out under him, and laughed with pure joy, before he leaned down and found Dean’s lips again. Dean wound his fingers into his hair and met the kiss. Castiel could feel him straining against his thigh but Dean seemed contend with sharing Castiel’s afterglow. He stroked over Castiel’s shoulders and his back and Castiel could do nothing but hum contently at how good it felt. 

Dean began to move his hips in tiny circles when Castiel’s breathing had evened out. Soon their kiss became heated again and when Dean’s nails scraped lightly over Castiel’s sides, Castiel sat up and went to work on Dean’s belt and buttons. His cock sprang free as if it was eager for Castiel’s touch. Wetness glistened at the tip. 

Castiel met Dean’s gaze and held it while he swept his palm through the remains of his come and wrapped his wet fingers around Dean. Dean’s eyes got even darker and he whimpered at the first light stroke. His hand scrambled over the bare floor for something to hold onto and Castiel reached up to find Dean’s right hand and weave their fingers together while Castiel picked up speed. Dean’s eyes rolled up under his lids.

“Look at me,” Castiel growled and Dean obeyed, trained his unfocused gaze back on Castiel, and never wavered, even when his body tensed and arched, and he didn’t close his eyes when Castiel’s name fell from his lips like a prayer or when he tumbled over the edge with a cry and Castiel kept pumping his hand to wring every ounce of pleasure from his body. 

They didn't look away and they found unsaid words somewhere deep inside each other’s eyes. 

Slowly Castiel leaned down and gathered Dean in his arms, cradled Dean’s head against his neck. Castiel stared into the flames until the sinking sun warned them that they had to go. His heart was heavy and they didn’t speak on the way back, lost in their own thoughts, and when the reached the mansion, they parted with a soft goodbye. 

Dean went up through the main door. 

Castiel went over to the servant’s entry. 

The sun set in a blaze of red and violet, warming Castiel’s back, disguising the fact that the cold night waited just behind the horizon.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close, people. Thank you all for tagging along. Next chapter will be up tomorrow or Monday.

 

 

Castiel accompanied Dean two days every week to oversee the work on the house. On the site they were never alone. Carpenters and masons from the village crowded the place to refurbish it according to Dean’s plans. New larger windows were added to more bring light and air into the rooms. New floorboards and grout gave the living area and the bedroom a warm and homely atmosphere. A kitchen was built and a storage room added to the back. 

The new layout was modern but cosy. Castiel liked what Dean had made of the old house. And he enjoyed visiting with Dean and following the process. Most of all, he enjoyed spending time with Dean. On the ride over they stole short moments for fleeting kisses and touches, but other than that, they were once again confined to lingering looks and fantasy. 

They did use their rides to talk, though. Haltingly at first, Dean asked Castiel about his family and his former job, about his decision to work as a servant. They delved into deeper topics soon, discussed the injustice of the aristocratic system, shared their thoughts on new ideas to build a modern society. 

Dean was in favor of change but thought it dangerous to overthrow too much too soon. People had to get used to their freedom, he said, they had to agree on a new set of rules and boundaries before they could take their fate into their own hands. He looked over at Castiel with a shy smile at that and cleared his throat. “Wanting something for a long time doesn’t mean you know what to do when you have it,” he said, and Castiel agreed, but only up to a point. 

“Not everybody uses their power like you,” he answered, ignoring the innuendo for a moment. “There are abusive people in charge all over the country who don’t care for the people working for them. I’m not saying change should come overnight, I’m not proposing a revolution. But we need to start somewhere, soon.”

Dean nodded and they kept discussing various options of modernising society. In moments like this, even more than when they were intimate, Castiel didn’t feel like Dean’s servant, but more like an equal. Over time, Dean opened up about more personal topics, too, and Castiel found every one of his preconceptions about his thoughtfulness, his empathy and wit confirmed. Dean inquired about Castiel’s reading list and promised to bring some new books back from his next trip to London. He asked Castiel for advice for which crops to concentrate on in the future and Castiel dug into his books that night to make a list. The time spent like this flew by too fast. For Castiel, their trips to the cottage were the highlight of each week.

Dean made him forget his status. When they came back to the house, he had to remind himself that they came from different worlds. In those short hours on horseback, he could almost pretend they had a future. 

 

\---

 

“Lord Winchester wants to see you in the library.” Charlie sounded unusually earnest and worry creased her brow. With a hammering heart, Castiel took the stairs, wondering what Dean could possibly want. They had gone to the cottage only yesterday. 

When he entered the library, Samuel Winchester rose from the desk and turned. 

“Novak. Come in and sit down.” His voice was cool and sharp like steel. Castiel’s stomach sank. He sat down on one of the chairs and clasped his hands in his lap. Somewhere deep inside, he had known this was coming. 

“I suppose you know why I asked you here.” Samuel cleared his throat and gripped the back of the chair he had just vacated. “I have noticed for a while that my brother took an interest in you. I chose to ignore it.” When Castiel’s head shot up at that, a levelled brown stare met his. “I have been aware of his inclinations for years, and there is not a day in my life that I don’t regret the venom and the injustice he has to face because of them.”

Castiel didn’t know much about Samuel Winchester, and he had never seen him as an unkind man, but this was still surprising. Their eyes met and Castiel saw that there was a “But…” waiting. 

“My brother is one of the most loyal, hard-working, loving people I know. And I was willing to overlook a lot as I saw him happy and content for the first time in years. But I will not have anyone take advantage of him.”

Castiel felt his face scrunch into an expression that must convey how much at a loss he was. If Samuel didn’t take offense at the fact that Castiel and Dean met at all, how could he think Castiel exploited the connection? He still worked as much as he had before, in no way privileged other than his being granted access to the books of the library. And Castiel was sure the other servants would be given the same courtesy if they asked. 

He shook his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand, Mylord.”

“You have been seen, Novak, so don’t try to deny it.” The edge in Samuel’s voice cut like a knife. “You threatened Dean when he came home late three nights ago.”

Castiel thought back to the evening and suddenly everything became clear. The hadn’t seen each other for a few days due to Dean’s visit in London. When Dean had sauntered along the west side of the house, Castiel had pushed him against the wall next to the kitchen face first and pressed close along his back to whisper obscenities in his ear and make him shudder. Dean had taken a liking to being manhandled and Castiel was always eager to indulge him. 

Of course, to anyone else, that must have looked like violence. It would be the next logical step to assume Castiel was blackmailing Dean, maybe threaten to make his proclivities public. Samuel couldn't be more wrong, but Castiel was in no position to expose Dean and tell his brother the truth.  _ Your older brother occasionally begs his servant to hold him down and come all over his face. He takes pleasure from being ordered around and roughened up a little _ . Castiel couldn’t see Samuel react well to that, even if he seemed to be quite open-minded. Samuel waited, eyes sharp on Castiel’s face while his mind raced, searching for a possible explanation and coming up blank. 

When the silence stretched on longer, Samuel stood and went over to the desk. “I think it best if you leave as soon as possible. I don’t want to burden my brother with this, and since he seems unharmed, I am willing to write you a letter of recommendation if you sign an agreement to never speak of this to anybody and never approach my brother again.”

Despite himself, Castiel felt a surge of pride on Dean’s behalf. Samuel Winchester was an excellent lawyer. Of all the ways this could have played out, Castiel was presented with the best possible solution. He felt like he should thank Samuel for his generosity, but his shoulders ached from his stiff posture and his hands were clasped so hard his knuckles turned white. He felt cold all of a sudden and remembered his dark thoughts the night after he had first visited the cottage with Dean. Castiel had never had any illusions about the fact that their time was limited. He had just hoped they would have a little bit longer. He would have liked the opportunity to say goodbye to Dean. 

Castiel came to his feet and went over to Samuel to bend over the desk and grip the pen. With a flourish he signed the papers Samuel had prepared and waited while Samuel put his name under the recommendation. 

“I …”, he started, but there was nothing he could say. He was sorry it ended like this, but he didn’t regret his time with Dean. “I wish you and your family well, Mylord.” He turned and crossed the floor swiftly so Samuel wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes. 

In a daze, Castiel went up to his room and packed his few belongings. He debated taking some of the books he had borrowed from the library, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. His room was cleaned of every personal touch in minutes, all his clothes and papers stuffed into a small leather bag. Should he talk to Mr. Singer, ask if he could stay the night? Castiel envisioned the conversation and felt his heart plummet at the thought. He looked out of his small window. The sky darkened already and was tinged with the yellow of an impending snowstorm. Going outside was a terrible idea, but he could not stay. 

The staff floors and the stairs were blissfully empty. Castiel closed his thick woolen coat and stumbled out into the dusk. He would take longer on foot, but he knew the way to the cottage by heart and hoped he would make it before the storm set in. Just two days ago, he had taken this path at Dean’s side and smiled at him while Dean recounted his favorite childhood adventures. Dean’s eyes had sprinkled with cheerful laughter and when they had reached the patch of trees a mile from the house, he had reached over and touched Castiel’s hand briefly. 

How fast fate could turn, Castiel thought, and he didn’t find any solace in knowing that it hadn’t been Dean who had sent him away. The harsh wind whipped across his face and turned the wet streaks on his cheeks to ice. Castiel pressed his chin into his collar and hastened his steps.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Marie who wished for winter and fluff:-) Thank you, dear, for helping me sort things out!
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking around and following the story. There will be an epilogue chapter after this which I will post as soon as I'm done editing. I loved writing this one and hope you enjoyed it too!

 

 

He made it just through the door before the sky went black and opened to reveal thick snowflakes that tumbled angrily through the biting wind. Castiel closed the door behind him and shook the snow from his hair.

His bones ached with defeat and tiredness. With heavy limbs, he let his bag fall next to the door and crouched to light a fire. When the first flames licked at the logs, his vision blurred and he leaned his forehead against the stone of the hearth. He had to make a plan, decide where to go, but his thoughts were jumbled and spinning in circles just like the snowflakes outside the window.

Was it worse to never know the kind of connection he had felt to Dean, or finding it only to have it yanked from his grasp? He cursed under his breath, the world around them, Samuel Winchester and yes, Dean, too, because Dean had always taken a brave step forward when Castiel had withdrawn, had sought Castiel’s company when Castiel had felt safer keeping his distance. Dean had crumbled every single one of Castiel’s defenses and fanned the tiny flame of hope in his heart until Castiel had forgotten, for a moment, how futile it was to fall in love with Dean. With his big heart and his courage and his righteousness, Dean had refused to give up.

And, knowing all that in the marrow of his bones, he really shouldn’t have been surprised when the door creaked to reveal a tall dark silhouette in the midst of whirling snowflakes. Castiel jumped up and stumbled back, while Dean closed the door and pushed back the hood of his coat.

Everything froze for a long moment and the only sounds were the cackling of the fire and the storm clamoring outside and the pounding of blood in Castiel’s ears. Then Dean barked, “What were you thinking, running away like that?”

Rage boiled under Castiel’s skin, edged with worry and self-pity. “What was I thinking? What about you?” The storm was howling around the house and gripping under the roof tiles. Castiel felt sick. Dean had gone out into that night, and risked his life, because of him. He wanted to shake him for his stupidity.

The fight drained out of him as soon as he remembered the reason for his hasty departure.

“What are you doing here?”he croaked.

Dean shed his coat and let it fall to the ground before he strode into the room, right into Castiel’s personal space. “Bobby… Mr. Singer told me what happened.” He dropped his gaze and rubbed his neck. “I went to Sammy and set his head right about… about the whole mess.”

Despite himself, Castiel felt the corners of his lips tug up a little at Dean’s uneasy gestures, but the smile fell from his face quickly.

“That was brave - and reckless of you. And I’m glad we’ll get the chance to say goodbye to each other. But it doesn’t change anything. You exposed yourself for nothing.”

Dean’s head snapped up, hurt written all over his face. “What? Do…” Castiel saw his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, “do you _want_ to leave?”

Castiel laughed without a trace of humour. “I can’t stay after this. Even if whoever saw us keeps quiet, the risk that we will be seen again someday is too high. If your brother knows and Mr. Singer knows, how long will it take until your guests suspect something?”

“My guests.” Dean seemed to have trouble to follow Castiel’s rant. “When would they see us together?”

“Dean. We can’t meet out here forever. I can’t live like that, and I know I’m not strong enough to stay away from you. To see you every day in the dining room, meet you in the hall, and have to hide even the fact that we talk to each other… I can’t stand it.”

Dean shook his head and rubbed his palm over his eyes and his mouth. “Cas. What are you talking about? Of course we can talk. We _will_ talk. And we will do whatever we like as soon as that door behind me is closed.” He pointed behind him, and Castiel followed the direction of his thumb, dumbstruck. “I know it’s not perfect. We will always have to hide who we are. But we can be together. Isn’t that enough?”

Castiel mind reeled. He turned and looked around the room, as if he saw it for the first time. There was Dean’s old armchair, standing between the fireplace and the window so whoever sat there could read in the afternoon sun. A few books lay waiting on the desk over on the other side of the room where the bright morning light would fall through the wide new window. Castiel could read the script on one of the spines: _Utopia_.

The little flame inside his chest flared and Castiel fought to keep it from spreading into a wildfire. He opened his hands to indicate the house around them. “Is this not meant for your new steward?” he asked, weakly.

“Well yes, it is.” Dean raised his voice in exasperation and crowded even closer until the tip of his nose almost brushed Castiel’s. “Unless you have other plans.” He grabbed the lapels of Castiel’s shirt with shaking hands and found his eyes. Castiel stared back, searching for any signs that Dead didn’t mean it, that Castiel had misunderstood.

He found none.

“Stay,” Dean whispered, and Castiel brought his hands up to cup his cheek where Dean’s skin was still cold from the icy storm outside. Castiel had no idea how this would work out, and he still had so many question about what Dean had said, but right now, only one answer mattered.

“Of course.”

 

\---

 

“We will have to stay for the night,” Castiel said, and he squinted through the window into the darkness outside.

Back at the house, they would know Dean and Castiel had found shelter and suppose they would stay the night. In this kind of weather, nobody would come looking for them.

The room warmed quickly as the storm fanned the flames through the chimney. They took their time undressing each other, stroked and kissed every patch of skin revealed. They moved unhurried, stopped to kiss for small eternities and revelled in this new freedom to take their time. For once, the hunger Castiel felt whenever Dean was close abated and made room for quiet adoration.

When both of them were finally naked, Dean took C<astiel’s hand and led him over to the wide bed, a bed Dean had commissioned for Castiel, and for himself to share it. Castiel’s heart pounded when he realized how long Dean must have planned this, and how much it said about Dean’s feelings. He was disoriented with the revelations, and felt lost in the new reality he found himself in.

Dean pushed him gently onto the bed and followed to blanket Castiel’s body and search for another kiss while his hands roamed over Castiel’s sides, along his arms and up to frame his face. When they parted, Dean asked him what he wanted, and watched him with careful, tender eyes, as Castiel thought about it.

“I want to be as close to you as I can. I don’t think... “ His voice trailed off, but Dean seemed to understand.

Dean pecked him on the lips. “Okay. Turn around.”

Castiel moved to lie on his front while Dean rummaged somewhere in the room. A hissing sound told Castiel Dean lighted the fire in the smaller hearth, and the clinking of glass followed. Castiel closed his eyes. A moment later, Dean’s warm hands were on his back, slick with scented oil, and he started to massage Castiel’s aching shoulders. Castiel sighed with the pure bliss of it. He had been drawn tight since he talked to Samuel and now made a conscious effort to let himself relax. Dean traced the knobs of his spine and dug deep into the muscle under his shoulder blades, until Castiel was loose and completely slack.

He felt Dean’s length brushing against the cleft of his ass now and then, and it didn’t feel urgent, just like a constant reminder that Dean wanted him even when Castiel wasn’t strong and in control. When they had started this Castiel would never have imagined a night like this. He gave himself over to Dean fully, let Dean care for him while he floated, untethered, overflowing with emotion.

When he felt the solid heat of Dean’s erection again, Castiel wiggled to move against it. Dean stilled. The comfortable silence of the warm room filled with tension. Castiel nudged back again and opened his thighs just a fraction. He had thought about this so often, pictured it, asked himself if he would like it. Now the curious wondering magnified into a sudden need.

Dean sat back and trailed one of his fingers along Castiel’s spine, never stopping, and Castiel spread his legs wider and hummed a low note. Dean’s left hand kneaded the curve of Castiel’s ass and spread him while that inquisitive fingertip explored and teased, as if he had all the time in the world and Castiel wasn’t trembling with anticipation.

He couldn’t help the impatient whine that burst out of him when the tension became too much. Dean had the audacity to chuckle, but finally complied. Castiel bit his lip when Dean’s index finger finally breached him for the first time. Castiel was so relaxed by now, Dean didn’t meet any resistance.

Dean opened him up with capable hands, careful but relentless, until Castiel squirmed and moaned and rocked his hips back and forth between the insistent pressure of Dean’s hands and the rough texture of the sheet against his cock. Pleasure coursed through his body and built into a constant ache, a deep need that settled somewhere in his gut and became a part of him.

He had lost all sense of time when Dean gripped his hip and pulled lightly so Castiel turned around. Castiel’s vision was blurry as he focused on the image of Dean, sitting between his thighs, cheeks red with the heat of the fire and the pent-up desire, hair disheveled, cock hard and leaking.

“So beautiful,” Castiel murmured, and the blush on Dean’s face deepened. Castiel took his hand and placed a kiss inside his palm before he tugged Dean closer. The world was still hazy, and Castiel felt it narrow down to this moment, this room, this minute he shared with Dean. His heart thumped slow and steady in his chest.

Dean fell between his thighs and Castiel lifted his knees to accommodate him. Slick hot pressure had him gasping when Dean moved his hips forward slowly until the head of his cock slipped inside where Castiel was loose and slick from Dean’s fingers. They both sighed.

Castiel buried his hands in Dean’s hair and brought his face down for a passionate kiss. He thrust his tongue deep into Dean’s mouth as his body opened up under Dean’s gentle movements. When they were as close as they could possibly get, they stilled and breathed together. Castiel could feel Dean inside him, a solid pulsing heat, the feeling so new and incredible Castiel lost himself in it for a moment. Then Dean started to roll his hips and Castiel let his head fall back onto the pillow to just feel and give himself up to the sensation of being filled and owned by the man he loved.

The pressure in his gut built slowly and nearly imperceptibly. Dean found a steady, slow rhythm and had his eyes closed in concentration with low pants tumbling from his open lips. Castiel stroked his hand through his hair and told him how good he felt, how perfect, murmured praise and endearments. Every third or fourth thrust found the spot inside him that send tendrils of pleasure all through his body, adding to the fire, teasing him closer and closer to his release.

When he finally reached the breaking point, his climax washed over him like a wave, in one long languid pull that moved the earth under him. Pulse after pulse ran through him, and he tightened and relaxed around Dean as thick white spurts covered his own chest and stomach. Dean groaned and buried himself even deeper in Castiel, pressed impossibly closer, and then he tensed and Castiel could feel him following deep inside him.

Dean’s elbows gave out and he landed heavy on Castiel’s chest, not caring about the mess one bit. They came down together slowly. Castiel stroked his back with a smile, intent to never leave the bed again.

In the end, they had to get up and clean themselves. After washing up hastily and stoking the fires for the night, they tumbled back under the covers as quick as possible, and sank into each other’s arms, legs tangled.

“Tell me something you never told anyone.” Dean’s voice was soft and heavy with sleep waiting. Castiel turned and brushed his lips over Dean’s hair while his fingers traced his brow and the curve of his cheekbone. Emotion swelled in his chest. Whatever the next day held, Dean was willing to face it with him. Castiel closed his eyes.

He barely moved his lips, still pressed against Dean’s temple. _Something he never told anyone._ So simple and yet the most complicated secret he ever had.

“I love you,” he whispered. Dean had already fallen asleep.  

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll write a PWP," she said. "No plot, no angst, just smut, I swear." 
> 
> I'll know better next time.

_ 5 months later _

 

The geese cackled loud enough to wake the dead, which was exactly why Castiel had bought them. He looked out of the window to see Dean unmount and lead Impala to the stable, before he picked his way carefully through the flock of white guards that quickly disassembled into the flowerbeds. Wild tulips and forget-me-nots crowded the space between the low fence and the cottage, surrounding small rose bushes they had put into the earth only a week ago. 

Dean came through the door with an apology on his face but Castiel didn’t let him speak. “You’re late,” he admonished in his most stern voice and he thought he saw Dean shiver. They hadn’t seen each other in three days and Dean had promised to come over early. Now it was afternoon, and Castiel had spend the day waiting and yearning. He had cleaned the house and pulled the weeds in the vegetable garden out back, gone over the books again and buzzed with longing and growing irritation the whole time. 

Dean would have a good reason to be late, but their bed had been lonely and cold for two nights and their time together was rare as it was. In the middle of spring, Dean and Castiel had to be everywhere at once, talking to the farmers, helping with the repairs on paddocks, stables and pastures, buying seed and machinery. Knowing Dean’s busy schedule didn’t mean Castiel would let Dean’s tardiness go. 

Dean squirmed under Castiel’s gaze and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Castiel felt himself harden just from the way Dean met his stare with that heady mixture of submission and cheeky insolence. It had been three very long days.

He decided a punishment was in order.

“Undress,” he commanded. Dean eyes widened, but he nodded and went for the first button of his waistcoat. Castiel’s eyes never left him as he took a few steps back. With efficient movements, Castiel stripped down to his underwear before he sat down in the broad armchair to enjoy the show. 

And Dean didn’t disappoint. He peeled layer after layer off his skin, revealing his firm chest, his freckled shoulders and his soft stomach. Castiel put his hands on the armrests and followed every single one of Dean’s movements with hungry eyes. After several months, one would think Castiel’s desire would have lessened, that seeing Dean shedding his costume and role would become less exciting, but he was just a awestruck as he had been that first morning, when he had found Dean pleasuring himself. 

When Dean was finally, blessfully naked, he turned on his heel and chuckled. Castiel had never seen anything more riveting. Swallowing against his suddenly dry throat, patted his lap. “Come over here.” 

Dean closed the distance and crawled into Castiel’s lap, bending down to capture his lips. Castiel let him set the pace of the kiss, opened at the insistent licks of Dean’s tongue and held back so Dean could delve deep and playful. Dean circled his hips to rub his erection against Castiel’s and moaned into the kiss wantonly. Dean loved to tease him like this and see what Castiel would do if his control snapped. Today Dean would have to learn patience.

Castiel had always admired Dean’s ability to let go and fully immerse himself in the moment. Dean left traces of wetness all over Castiel’s linen underpants as he undulated in Castiel’s lap. He released Castiel’s lips with a smack and traced the line of Castiel’s jaw, nibbling his way up to the sensitive spot behind his ear. Castiel inclined his head to give him better access and was instantly rewarded with a teasing graze of teeth along the shell of his ear. Dean’s panting sounded loud this close, sinful. 

Dean braced his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and rose higher, leaned back and angled his hips until Castiel’s cock slipped between his thighs, then up until the tip nudged against his hole, and Dean sighed before he settled back down closer to Castiel, the thick length of Castiel’s erection now nestling between Dean’s cheeks while Dean was pressed close against Castiel’s stomach.

“Feels so good,” he whispered in Castiel’s ear and licked inside. “I want you inside me.”

Castiel groaned and dug his fingers deep into the soft fabric of the armrests to keep from reaching for Dean. Gathering his willpower, he turned his head so Dean had to face him, and searched his eyes before he spoke.

“I’m not stopping you.” He leaned down to his saddle bag next to the chair and dug for a moment with a hand that trembled after holding on to the armrest with an iron grip. He retrieved a small vial with oil and set it down on the table on the other side of the chair. Then he put his hand back on the armrest and waited.

Dean hadn’t moved the whole time. He stared at Castiel with unsure eyes, hands on Castiel’s shoulders, his chest still rising and falling fast with shallow breaths. Castiel sat still and fought to calm his own breathing as he tried his best to ignore how perfect Dean’s round ass fit against his throbbing cock. This was a punishment alright, but Castiel wasn’t sure anymore who was being penalized. 

Dean licked his lips. This was new, and Castiel wouldn’t propose it if he weren't sure Dean would enjoy it. Making up his mind, Dean reached for the glass and opened it to let the oil trickle into his palm. Castiel held his breath, gaze fixed on Dean’s flushed face. Dean’s green eyes found his when he brought his slick fingers behind his back and sat up higher. Castiel couldn’t see what he did, but he knew the exact moment Dean’s fingers breached his tightness, could have conjured the image in his mind how Dean’s face went slack when he was finally filled. Glassy eyed, bottom lip full and quivering just slightly, he looked like temptation incarnate, irresistible. A fresh drop of precome spurted from Dean’s erection and spilled onto Castiel’s stomach, when Dean pushed deeper and began to move slowly.

Dean’s eyes shut after that and Castiel didn’t reprimand him. Long lashes fluttered over Dean’s high cheekbones and little gasps and moans fell from his lips with every twist and thrust of his hand. He flinched when a second finger joined the first and held still for a moment to get used to the stretch, before he started moving again, faster now, trying new angles and finally finding the spot that made him cry out.

Dean’s hands grazed Castiel’s clothed erection every second or third time he pushed his finger up inside his own body and Castiel found it the sweetest torture to wait for Dean to open himself for him. They were both breathing hard by now and sweat beaded on their chests, as the room became stifling from the spring sun falling through the window and the thick smell of their lust.

After what may have been minutes or hours – Castiel couldn’t say how long he had watched Dean, mesmerized –, Dean opened his eyes, pulled his fingers from his body and sat back. He looked at Castiel long and intense, as if he waited for something. Castiel steeled himself and cocked his eyebrow. If Dean wanted Castiel inside him, he would have to take matters in his own hands. 

Resolution setting his jaw, Dean grabbed the oil with one hand, opened the fly of Castiel’s pants with the other, not caring for the button he ripped off in the process - and dear lord, he was beautiful like this, angry and needy and desperate,- before he dipped the vial to let the fluid drip directly onto Castiel’s cock. The drops slid along his shaft, tickling, down between his open legs, and Castiel groaned from that contact alone. 

All air left his lungs when Dean found his cock with his hand and spread the oil in one swift motion. Then Dean sat up and Castiel still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as Dean directed Castiel’s erection to his slick opening. The tip caught on Dean’s rim and Dean’s fingers circled his base to guide him and then heat and impossibly smooth pressure enveloped him as Dean sank down on Castiel’s lap. Castiel started breathing again when Dean was settled, desperately gulping down air as every single sense and thought centered around the indescribable experience to be buried to the hilt inside Dean. 

He knew the church’s stance on what they were doing, but Castiel couldn’t think of anything more pure and heavenly than this, of feeling Dean close and perfect, warm and alive. 

And then Dean started moving, careful at first, tentative, as he gave his body time to adjust. The slick glide over Castiel’s length was torturously slow and Castiel let his head fall back and opened his mouth to let the sounds Dean pushed from his lungs fall freely. Dean braced his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and sat up until Castiel’s cock nearly left his body before he sank down in one go and they both shouted. Dean rose and moved his hips down again, and again, as he found a shaky rhythm, and Castiel dug his fingers into the armrest until they hurt. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to grip Dean’s hips and thrust up into his tight slick heat but he held back. Punishment, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t remember the crime.

Dean’s thighs began to tremble from the exertion. His hand reached for his erection to speed things up but Castiel growled “No,” and Dean whimpered but obediently pressed his hand back on Castiel’s sweat slick chest, fingers digging into the muscle. He moved with less precision now, barely able to lift himself up, instead circling his hips and pushing back against Castiel’s cock in small rocking motions. 

“Cas, please, I need… I need you.” Dean looked up at him, pleadingly, and Castiel could see tears welling in the corner of his eyes. Castiel heart swelled with emotion at seeing Dean undone, raw in his desire and the trust he put in Castiel.

Castiel finally loosened his grip and brought one hand up to trace Dean’s bottom lip with his thumb, pushed it past his teeth and growled when Dean sucked it inside and licked along the pad. Castiel pulled it out and cupped Dean’s cheek. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

Dean nodded and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “Yes, please.”

“Then stand up and go over to the door.” 

Dean protested with a whine, but he rose and let Castiel slip out before he crawled backwards and came unsteadily to his feet. He stumbled over to the door and glanced over at Castiel. 

“Back to me, hands on the frame,” Castiel whispered, and he hoped he wasn’t pushing things too far. Dean did as he was told without hesitation. Castiel went over and trailed his finger lightly along Dean’s spine. Dean shivered under his touch. 

“Are you okay? Tell me if we need to stop.” Castiel waited as Dean got his stumbling breath under control. 

“Don - don’t stop,” he muttered, and opened his stance while his hands gripped the door frame. 

Castiel teased a finger down his cleft and pushed it into Dean without warning, garnering a high sound as he grazed Dean’s prostate. He’d like to make Dean beg again, but his control was faltering. He pulled his finger free and took a step forward, gripped the base of his cock and guided it to Dean’s red, slick hole. Dean was so stretched by now Castiel could push inside with one long thrust. When he was settled deep inside Dean’s heat, he inhaled and placed a soft kiss on Dean’s shoulder blade. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice so low and hoarse it was nearly inaudible. 

“Yes.” Dean braced himself and pushed back slightly. “Please, Cas.”

Castiel’s hands dug into Dean’s hips and he pulled back to thrust forward, hard, and Dean cried out with pleasure. Castiel snapped his hips back and forth, building a fast and ruthless rhythm. The long muscles of Dean’s back worked gracefully and powerful as he met Castiel’s movements and pushed back to take every single thrust of Castiel’s hips. Castiel let go and drove into Dean again and again, and the fire in the pit of his stomach built and roared, made his blood boil. 

Dean uttered a never-ending litany of “Cas! Please, yes, oh God!” between moans and broken shouts now and when Castiel felt the pressure rise as he got close, he grabbed Dean’s hair and pulled his head back. “Now,” he growled, and Dean’s whole body convulsed. He clenched in spasms around Castiel and then his untouched cock jerked and he screamed Castiel’s name as thick spurts of white painted the door. 

Castiel didn’t slow down, never stopped thrusting through Dean’s climax and held Dean up with his arm around his chest like a vice while Dean shuddered and twitched with the aftershocks. 

Dean let his head fall onto Castiel’s shoulder, weakly pushing back against the roll of Castiel’s hips. “Let me feel you,” he whispered and this time, it was Castiel who followed the command. He tumbled over the edge, breathless, weightless, as if falling off a high cliff, and lost all sense of self only to find it again in the sound of Dean saying his name over and over, like a benediction. 

After endless moments, Dean wiggled and turned in the circle of Castiel’s arms. “Am I forgiven?” he asked with a warm lazy smile. He looked sated and relaxed like a cat and Castiel hoped Dean would misstep and give him reason to chastise him again soon. Maybe he could tie Dean down ... 

Castiel shook his head to clear it. He tightened his hold and placed a soft kiss on Dean’s temple. “Yes, you are forgiven. We should get cleaned up. I made pie.”

Dean grinned wide. “Have I told you that I love you?”

“You have, but I might be willing to hear it again,” Castiel smiled. 

Tomorrow they would go over to the village and celebrate Joanna Winchester’s baptizing. Samuel had gotten around to accepting Castiel in their lives and offered him his friendship.

A lot was changing. Charlie had gone to school to be a teacher. The unrelenting barriers that separated rich and poor were crumbling, slowly, one by one. And in the middle of that storm, Dean and Castiel had found a place they could call their own.

The life they had built for themselves might not be perfect, but it got pretty close, Castiel  thought, while they ate cherry pie in bed, naked, and made plans for the future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [procasdeanating ](www.procasdeanating.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi!
> 
> If you want to signal boost this story, here's the [tumblr post ](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/post/163338405336/deancas-downton-abbey-au-explicit-20k).
> 
> Comments always make my day!


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